


The Model of Efficiency

by shadowsong26



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: ....except sabine might already be on mandalore by then..., Gen, also, and the timeline doesn't matter, and this prooooobably takes place shortly after through imperial eyes?, because hera should've gotten a chance to run into kallus while he was still undercover, but is mostly off-page/on comms, oh well, sabine does show up very briefly, this is a fairly lighthearted version of that because Why Not, this is star wars; where everything's made up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 01:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsong26/pseuds/shadowsong26
Summary: This is not the contact you were looking for.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	The Model of Efficiency

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic exists because one snippet of dialogue jumped into my head a few days ago.
> 
> Crossposted from my writing tumblr

Honestly, it was a milk run mission and _probably_ below Hera’s technical pay grade at this point, but there had been no one else available. And besides, her increasing command responsibilities and the fact that she hadn’t actually _left_ the Atollon base in a while had left her with just a _smidge _of cabin fever.

So, here she was, hanging out in a small restaurant--it was a step or two above the type of cantina where these meetings usually took place, but still the kind of place where she could loiter for a while without raising too many eyebrows. And that was exactly what she was doing at this point; waiting to meet up with a contact. Who was, of course, almost an hour _late_. Which left her in the awkward position of deciding when to call the whole thing off. Or if they should investigate, see what might have happened to the contact, though her inclination was not. Mostly because he was a black market contact, versus a member of the local insurgency--different situation, different protocol.

_“Any sign of him?”_ Sabine asked.

“Not yet,” she muttered. “I’ll give him another fifteen…”

Okay, _that_ was weird. She'd only caught half a glimpse of his profile, and it was half-hidden by hair that was slightly shaggy and the wrong color, but she could’ve _sworn_ that waiter was--

_“Spectre Two? Still with me?”_

“Yeah,” Hera said.

_“Did you see him?”_

“Nope,” she said. “Give me a minute, Spectre Five, okay?”

_“Okay.”_

She scanned the room for a minute, trying to get another look at that waiter and figure out how she could get close enough to figure out who he was; but he seemed to have disappeared into the kitchen.

_Kriff. Well, I probably _am_ wrong, what would he even be _doing_ here? Unless he knew about this meeting somehow…_

She frowned a little, drumming her fingers on her glass. That _could_ also explain the contact’s failure to appear, but somehow it didn’t seem right.

“Can I get you anything else, miss?”

She didn’t jump, because she’d been doing this for a long time, but it was a _very near thing._

Because that was _absolutely_ Agent Kallus; she’d know that voice _anywhere._ Even if he was putting on a rough local accent. And had, apparently, dyed his hair a darker, almost muddy brown and left it hanging loose, rather than slicking it back. And, rather than his usual uniform, was dressed like the staff here, with a tray balanced on his left arm.

“Uh. No, thanks, I’m good,” she said.

“Right, then,” he said, then dropped his voice. “I don’t think anyone _else_ noticed you noticing me, yet, but _please _try to be more discreet.”

She did _not_ stare, but only by employing a truly supernatural effort. She hoped he was _grateful._

“What are you _doing_ here?” she asked, under her breath, bringing her glass up to take another sip and hoping that was enough cover.

“Working, obviously,” he said, irritated, shifting the tray.

Hera blinked.

“What, did you think my entire job involved stomping around in uniform, asking the right questions?”

“…well…”

“…all right, fine, that’s a good eighty percent of it,” he admitted. “But some of it involves being very much _out_ of uniform and saying nothing at all.” He shifted his grip again, grabbing a pitcher off his tray and filling her glass. An excuse for staying so close, probably.

“What are you doing here, then? Working, I know, but…”

“Nothing to do with you,” he said. “There’s a gentleman here, a Crimson Dawn lieutenant. We have reason to believe there’s been a shakeup in their upper ranks. I was in the area, and my superiors at ISB borrowed me back for a few days to see what I could find out.”

“Oh,” she said.

“And I should get back to it,” he said. “…although…”

“What?”

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll circle back. And _please_ don’t watch me,” he added, before raising his voice and reapplying the accent which--okay, she’d _technically_ known he was a spy, but it was _still_ bizarre to see his body language--to see _everything--_just _shift_ when he assumed a persona. “Unless there’s something else I can get you?”

“Some more napkins, maybe?” she said. It gave him an excuse to come back, anyway.

“Of course,” he said, giving her a quick customer-service smile and weaving his way away.

_“…was that…?”_ Sabine asked.

“Yep,” she breathed.

_“Weird.”_

“Oh, yes.”

And then Kallus was back, with a handful of extra napkins--and a datachip sandwiched between them. “A few files you might find interesting,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded once. “Will you be here much longer?”

“Don’t think so,” she said. “Unless you’ve spotted a Zabrak with green-dyed hair and a red armband?”

“Sorry, no,” he said.

“All right,” she said. _Worth a shot, anyway._ “Then I’ll probably head out in the next few minutes.”

“Understood,” he said, then made that _shift_ again, and added, brightly, with the fake accent and _smile_ which was somehow the most surreal part of this whole thing. “Anything else I can get you, miss?”

“Just the check, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’ll have that right out to you.”

“Thanks,” she said.

When he returned with it, she’d more or less recovered her wits. And, while signing, she couldn’t _quite_ resist getting a little dig in. For old times sake. Just to make the whole thing seem less bizarre.

And, just maybe, to distract him for a split second so he wouldn’t notice she got a picture. For certain interested parties back on base. Who may or may not have _admitted_ they were interested just yet, but. Well. That was _their_ problem, not hers.

“…you know,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before?”

He stared at her for a moment. “…oh, shut up.”

…okay, so that did the exact _opposite_ of making this feel normal.

But it was worth it, anyway. Even if she hadn’t gotten the smile, she’d still gotten the hair.

“Thanks so much,” she said.

He nodded, and went back to his cover job; she waited a few seconds, pretending to fiddle with her receipt, before starting to get her things together.

“Spectre Five,” she muttered, “I’m heading out. And tell base command that it wasn’t a total wash--I’ve got a surprise for them from Fulcrum.”

_“Copy that, Spectre Two. Ready and waiting. …you want to tell Spectre Four, or can I?”_

Hera smiled, leaving the restaurant with the datachip tucked securely into a hidden pocket. “You can have your fun,” she said. “Just tell me how he takes it. _Especially_ when you show him the picture.”

_“…I love you, you know that?”_

“You’d better,” she agreed, and stepped into the street to make her way back to the rendezvous point and her regular, substantially less surreal duties.

_Well, I wanted something different,_ she thought. _I certainly got that._ But, between the datachip and seeing Kallus for herself, for the first time since his defection…

_I am very, _very_ glad I came._


End file.
